In a lot of ways, Lent is about being stuck. Many of us sit down before Lent and take stock of our lives, discerning where we are stuck, and commit to working on getting unstuck. Some of us are not that organized, and only discover how stuck we are as we enter into the penitential season, letting the prayers, scriptural lessons, and liturgies work on us. And some of us cannot even claim to have done that work. We only discover when we are stuck when someone metaphorically or literally smacks us against the head and tells us to shake off whatever is getting in our way, and get back in the game.

Two characters in our scripture readings today are similarly stuck. The first is Samuel. If you remember, Samuel is the prophet who anoints the first king of Israel – Saul. But eventually Saul falls out of grace with God, and although Samuel delivers God’s judgment, Samuel grieves. We are not really sure why Samuel grieves – if Samuel was really rooting for Saul and is disappointed in Saul’s failure[i]; if Samuel is lost in Saul’s failure and is scared of what is to come for Israel; or if Samuel is worried about himself. After all, Samuel was intimately involved in helping Israel find a king – something God did not want for Israel in the first place. Regardless of the “Why?” of Samuel’s grief, we do know that God is unhappy with Samuel’s continued grief. God clearly thinks Samuel is stuck in grief. “How long will you grieve over Saul? I have rejected him from being king of Israel. Fill your horn with oil and set out…”

Samuel is not the only character in our scripture today who is stuck. In John’s gospel, we find a blind man healed by Jesus on the Sabbath. But Jesus’ actions are not the center of the story. Twenty-six verses – or 63% of the text we heard – is about the Pharisees being stuck in their own understanding of who, how, and when a person can heal another. For twenty-six verses they try to figure out who Jesus is, confident that he must be a sinner if he is healing on the Sabbath. They barrage both the formerly-blind man and his parents about the incident – bringing in the healed man twice. The banter goes on and on and finally, the healed man says exasperatedly, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”

In both Samuel and the Pharisees, we see God’s people, God’s leaders even, so stuck in their spiritual journeys that they are unable to see the work of God among them. In both cases, neither party is doing something wrong – grief is an appropriate response from Samuel. Samuel has invested a lot in Saul and has tried to mentor him on the right path for years. And if we are honest, there is probably a bit of self-pity in his grief, as God’s being done with Saul means Samuel is in for a rocky road, seditiously anointing another as king before Saul has abdicated or been removed from his seat of power.[ii] Likewise, the Pharisees are dutifully following the law of the Lord. They have been taught for generations to honor the Sabbath and keep it holy. We even prayed those very words last week, when we prayed the Decalogue together. The Pharisees’ confusion is about a man acting in contradiction to everything they have ever been taught.

I wonder how often we find ourselves similarly stuck in our journey with God. I cannot tell you the number of times someone in the midst of grief or discernment has said to me, “But this is not what was supposed to happen!” We never plan for divorces, unexpected deaths, layoffs, addictions, betrayals, or illness. We cannot anticipate the ways that tragedy or surprising life-changes will shake us to the core and sometimes paralyze us into inaction. Sometimes we do not even realize we are stuck. We get so caught up in our way of coping with life or simply surviving, that we do not realize how we deafen ourselves to the voice of God, speaking new and fresh revelation to us.

The good news for us, and for Samuel and the Pharisees, is that there is room for redemption and repentance. God finally speaks directly and plainly to Samuel. When Samuel has wallowed enough in his grief, God basically says, “Enough. You have had plenty of time to grieve. You have work to do, so get up and go.” God even has a plan for Samuel’s safety when he protests about that. “No more excuses. I have you covered. Go.” The healed man does a similar thing for the Pharisees. As they barrage him with question after question, he finally slows down and says, “Argue all you want! Your confusion does not change the fact that I was blind and now I see. Deal with it!” Of course, the Pharisees do not accept the invitation to repentance – to change their minds. But the healed man gives them more than enough direction toward truth and change.

The same is true for us. There are all kinds of opportunities for us to get unstuck this Lenten season. Many of you have already told me how the change in our liturgical pattern was just enough of a change to unsettle and reorient your senses in our worship of God. Our bible studies have offered multiple opportunities to review the saving acts of God in history. Our ecumenical services have given us ample occasions to see and hear God in fresh ways – whether through a different preaching style, music that touches us in new ways, or liturgical differences that shake up our senses. I know we had a long conversation at our house about why the wine was so different at the other churches! And I suspect our Quiet Day this coming Saturday may just be what some of us need help us hear God saying, “Enough. Get going!”

But even in this season of repentance, of orienting ourselves back to God, the church gives us a Sunday of renewal – what the Episcopal Church calls, “Rose Sunday,” “Mothering Sunday,” or in the Latin, “Laetare Sunday.” On this fourth Sunday in Lent, we take a break. Virgil Michel said about this Sunday, “A Christian Lent can never be entirely sad. With the fourth Sunday the pent up spiritual joy in the true member of Christ bursts forth in anticipation of the Easter joy to come…This was the day when the catechumens were decked with roses and when roses were mutually exchanged. Thence comes the custom of the rose vestment.”[iii] Our custom on this Refreshment Sunday is to wear rose-colored clothes and eat simnel cake as a way of honoring this day of refreshment. We all need those reminders to listen to God, to be more open to revelation, to get ourselves unstuck. But we also need those days when we say as a community, “Getting unstuck is hard work. That you are trying is blessing enough today. Take in a breath of God’s sweet mercy, and fill up that horn of oil tomorrow. There is time to get up and get going.”

So breathe in the refreshment today. Take courage that you are in good company in your need for renewal and redirection – both in the person sitting near you today and in our biblical ancestors. Honor this Sabbath that is meant for rest for your wearied souls. Do all those things; because tomorrow, you will indeed need to recommit to that work of getting unstuck. You will need to pick up that horn and go do the work God has given you to do. You will need to work on your hearing and eyesight, as God sprinkles wisdom all around for you to see and hear. But today, fully take this Sabbath. The good news is God will empower you to do all those other things you need to do tomorrow. Amen.

When my husband and I were engaged, we relocated to Delaware. One of the first things on our priority list was finding a church home – partly because we missed church back in North Carolina, but also because we were hoping to make some new friends in our new town. “Church shopping” was hard – nothing felt quite right, and our old standbys were not working. I was born and raised in the United Methodist Church, and my husband had nominally been raised in the Presbyterian Church. After months of frustration, and the recommendation of a friend, we tentatively tried out the Cathedral in Delaware. My husband was sold on the first Sunday; I took some time to come around. For a long time, I thought that we were just United Methodists who happened to worship in an Episcopal Church. But what I did not realize was that a transformation was taking place – I was discovering the Church home I didn’t know I was missing.

Every person who walks in the door of a church has a similar story. Sometimes a person is what we call a “cradle Episcopalian” – born, raised, and stayed in the Episcopal Church. Sometimes a couple or family is looking for a compromise in faith traditions. Sometimes people leave their denomination out of frustration and are looking for something that feels closer to the Gospel as they experience it. And sometimes a person has never before stepped a foot in a church. That’s part of the beauty of the Episcopal Church – our members come from a diverse set of experiences, all of which feed our mutual ministry.

That is why we are kicking off a class called “Discovery Class” this week at Hickory Neck. Whether you are new to Hickory Neck, the Episcopal Church, or you have been around forever, I find it is always helpful to review our roots. No matter how many times I teach this class, I find that people learn something new, feel inspired to deepen their faith, or find themselves reenergized about their Episcopal identity. The class also gives us a chance to reflect on and celebrate the unique way that our Episcopal identity is incarnate at Hickory Neck.

I hope you will take some time this week to reflect on your own spiritual journey. Think back to the times when you felt inspired, fed, and reinvigorated in your faith. Recall the way you felt when you knew, or suspected, that your current faith community began to feel like a spiritual home. And if you cannot join us at Hickory Neck, share some of those stories with your neighbors – and invite them into the wonderful work Jesus is doing in your church home!

Last week, I spent time at the Trappist monastery, Mepkin Abbey, in South Carolina. There were many highlights, which I imagine I will write about in the coming weeks and months. But what has been lingering in my mind is my experience with their labyrinth. I have now walked several labyrinths, but my experience with Mepkin’s labyrinth was a bit unique. When you first approach the labyrinth, it looks like a field of weeds and tall grasses. A casual passerby would miss it (or at least wonder why the monks were slacking on their grounds keeping).

The first time I walked the labyrinth, it was relatively early in the morning. I must have been the first one out there, because there were cobwebs all along my walk in. I found myself constantly clearing the way, recognizing how appropriate a metaphor the cobwebs were for the clearing of my mind I was trying to do. Several of the tall grasses were also bent over into the path, meaning I had to push my way through. Again, I found myself wondering what tall grasses have been blocking my own spiritual journey lately. The final challenge of the walk was the buzzing bugs who seemed to know right where my head was. I suppose I was waking them up or disturbing them, but all I could think about was the buzz of voices who have been frustrating my walk with God lately.

But like any labyrinth walk, once I calmed my mind, and especially after standing in the warm sun in the center of the labyrinth, I began to reinterpret my own metaphors. The buzzing of the bugs were not some outside set of voices agitating me, but instead my own busy mind, distracting me from hearing God. The cobwebs became the habits that have grown in me and my parish that clog up the way to change. Those habits and practices tend to cling to us, but when cleared can make way for a powerful new experience. And those pesky tall grasses became not annoying barriers, but reminders that the journey with God will always have road blocks. One can either turn around the way one came, stand facing the barrier paralyzed, or find a way around the road block to continue the journey with God.

Each time I walked the labyrinth, a new truth was revealed to me, and God spoke to me differently. On my last walk, I had come to a place of real peace during my retreat. That labyrinth walk was almost buoyant, full of joy and praise. What the daily walks reminded me of is that we all need spiritual practices that can help us access new revelations from God. Despite the tendency of churches to dramatically slow down in the summer, I have begun to think about this summer as a summer of seeking at St. Margaret’s. Once again, we are offering yoga on our lawn for parishioners and our neighbors. Parishioners who traditionally participate in weekly Bible study are instead using the summer to participate in spiritual “field trips,” to places like the Shrine of Our Lady of the Island and Little Portion Friary. We still have our mid-week Eucharist on Thursdays and our beautiful cemetery grounds, which are great for quiet meditation. We will also be using this summer for planning more spiritual and formation opportunities at St. Margaret’s for the program year. Our summer of seeking is giving us the space we need to hear how God is calling us into deeper seeking, serving, and sharing Christ in the months to come.

When I was in seminary, I audited a class entitled, “Living Biblically: Money, Sex, Power, Violence, and The Meaning of Life.” The title alone made me want to take the class. The class spent the quarter studying Jesus’ words and actions for some clues. Of course, I did not leave the class with all the answers. But the one thing that stuck with me from the class was this: when looking for answers to “What would Jesus do?” you have to look at not only what Jesus says, but also what he does. That may sound simple and obvious enough, but what we slowly began to realize is that what Jesus says and what Jesus does are often opposites. So, if you look at what Jesus says, you find some pretty harsh words about how to live life and who is to be judged. But if you look at what Jesus does, you find him living in a much more permissive and forgiving way. We came to see Jesus as one with high standards and a low threshold for forgiveness and grace. Of course, that did not mean we got all of our answers to our 21st Century questions about money, sex, power, violence, and the meaning of life, let alone answers to our questions about science, technology, and our modern world.

That is why I find our gospel lesson today so comforting. Our lesson from John today is part of Jesus’ farewell speech with his disciples – his last words during that Last Supper. You can imagine the hushed room, the feeling of something ominous approaching, the questions by the disciples, and the ever-patient Jesus trying to explain all the things they need to know. Finally, Jesus utters these words today, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.” You can almost hear the frustration in his voice, as if he is saying, “I wish I could explain everything to you now fully, but I just can’t.” In the midst of the weight of such a conversation, Jesus promises something better than they could possibly imagine: the Holy Spirit. Jesus explains that Holy Spirit will come and will continue to guide the disciples. All of the things that they cannot understand now, all of the things Jesus cannot say, will be revealed to them through the Holy Spirit in the years to come. Though Jesus will be physically absent from them, Jesus will be continually present with them through the Holy Spirit, revealing truth and perhaps even revealing what Jesus would do.

I think why I find this passage so comforting is not simply because we are promised the presence of God with us. What I find comforting about this passage is that truth is not locked away in some book or some person from two thousand years ago. Truth is accessible here and now through the Holy Spirit. We call our scriptures the Living Word because the Holy Spirit enlivens the Word and speaks truth to us, even today. This is also why we still have the community of faith– because the Holy Spirit creates for us fresh encounters with the revelation of Jesus.[i] Jesus knew that our changing circumstances would bring new questions and challenges that would require us to think afresh, and Jesus promises the Holy Spirit will get us through.

On this Trinity Sunday, I am grateful that we get this passage. Although we just had Pentecost, the Church is not always great about talking about the Holy Spirit. Sure, we regularly say the Trinitarian combination “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” liturgically, but rarely do we give the Holy Spirit the credit the Holy Spirit is due. I think the challenge is that we fear the Holy Spirit a little too much. When we hear talk of the Holy Spirit, we are afraid someone is going to start acting strangely and then claim they were slain in the Spirit. We are afraid that “the movement of the Holy Spirit” is just code for the movement that a particular person or group wants. We are afraid our worship will become some seventies, hippie version of God to whom we cannot relate. I know we are afraid or at least uncomfortable because I cannot remember the last Episcopalian I know, including myself, who began a prayer addressing the Holy Spirit as opposed to God or Jesus.

But this is how I know that the Holy Spirit is still present among us, guiding us to all truth. One of the primary areas I see the movement of the Holy Spirit is in the practice of preaching. I always say that somewhere between the preacher and the congregation is the Holy Spirit. Preaching does not work without the Holy Spirit. I cannot tell you the number of times I have sat down after preaching a sermon and thought that the sermon was probably the worst one I have ever preached. But without fail, the sermons I think are the worst often receive positive feedback. I also cannot tell you the number of times I have gotten into the pulpit with a specific message in mind, only to have a parishioner speak to me later about how something I said was so meaningful to them – only I swear I never said what they think I said. Somehow the Holy Spirit helps the preacher to glean truth, and the Holy Spirit helps the congregation to glean truth. Those truths may not be the same truths, but they are truths that lead us closer to God – which is what Jesus promises in our gospel lesson anyway.

Now, I do not mean to insinuate that this revelation only comes through preaching. Revelation comes throughout our lives together. The revelation of the Holy Spirit comes in that friend, coworker, or schoolmate who says something so profound that their words stick with you for weeks, and leads you into deeper prayer. The revelation of the Holy Spirit comes in Bible Study or in an outreach activity when some experience leaves you with a profound sense of the holy in your life. The revelation of the Holy Spirit comes in the mouths of our children, who say the most sacred and surprising things that open up new truth in unexpected ways.

This is why we dedicate an entire Sunday to celebrating the Trinity. Without the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, we would not experience our spiritual journey in the same way. Perhaps we are not truly comfortable labeling the Holy Spirit in our lives or praying to the Holy Spirit, but that does not mean that the Holy Spirit is not ever present in our journey – in fact, making that journey possible in the first place. We take today to celebrate the mysterious nature of all three persons who make up the one substance of the Trinity[ii] because only through this relational nature of the Trinity is our faith enlivened and is truth revealed. So today, your invitation is to figure out your invitation. Perhaps your invitation is to pray with a person of the Trinity that you have been avoiding for a while. Perhaps your invitation is to listen for the ways that the Holy Spirit is revealing truth to you. Or perhaps your invitation is to see the movement of the Holy Spirit through others this week. On this Trinity Sunday, there is no way of avoiding invitation. The question is which invitation is for you? Amen.

A few months ago, the Vestry and I did a spiritual exercise. We drew a straight line on a piece of paper, dividing the line into either five- or ten-year increments. Then we drew dots above and below our line, marking major life moments. The happy ones went above – births, marriages, graduations. The sad ones went below – deaths, divorces, bouts of depression. We connected the dots and saw what looked like a hilly landscape – with peaks and valleys. Then, we took a different colored pen, and we mapped the highs and lows in our relationship with God – times when we felt close to God and times when we felt far from God. That line too was filled with peaks and valleys. Some of us found that two the lines moved together – when happy things were happening in our lives, we felt very close to God; when difficult things were happening, we felt distant from God. Others had the opposite experience. In the difficult times, they felt God’s presence the most, and while in happy times their connection to God lessened. Each of us began to see that our spiritual life and our everyday life are connected, perhaps in unexpected ways.

What was interesting about all of our graphs was that all of us had times in the middle – where nothing dramatic was happening, and our relationship with God was pretty neutral – not particularly strong, but also not particularly distant. Those were the times when life was simply ordinary – where life just chugged along. Nothing remarkable stood out in that time, and that was okay.

Sometimes when we look at Jesus life – this God incarnate who took on flesh like ours – we begin to wonder if Jesus’ life is anything like ours. If you step back and recall the lectionary texts we have heard since Christmas Eve, you might begin to wonder if Jesus’ life is not some action-adventure movie. First he is born dramatically in manger; then we hear of fantastic angels and visiting shepherds; then John’s majestic words proclaim, “In the beginning was the Word…”; and then we hear the vivid story of the magi seeking and finding Jesus. Today, some years later, we hear of Jesus’ baptism – yet another extraordinary event in which the Holy Spirit descends upon Jesus proclaiming him to be the Son of God. To be honest, for a man who is supposed to be God incarnate, who is supposed to experience this world as we do and through that experience redeem us, Jesus’ life feels very little like ours. We cannot imagine someone telling our life story and finding nearly as many dramatic tales and mountain-top experiences. And yet, this is the way we hear about Jesus – drama, drama, drama!

What we miss in our gospel’s retelling of Jesus’ life is the ordinary. There are all sorts of gaps in the story that we never really get to see. Though we imagine the magi coming to the manger, in fact, Jesus was probably no longer an infant when they finally arrived. And yet, we hear no details of the time between shepherds and wise men. Then, after these magi do arrive, we find ourselves suddenly with an adult-version of Jesus today. Luke’s gospel does give us an account of the pre-teen Jesus in the temple, scaring his parents with his disappearing act; but otherwise, we know very little about the ordinary time of Jesus’ life. The omission of the ordinary can make us feel distant from Jesus. Unlike our spiritual maps, Jesus’ map would be one long plateau of highs where the everyday and the spiritual are constantly in sync, without many low valleys.

Luckily, there is much more incarnation today in our texts than there seems to be at first glance. The way that Luke tells Jesus’ story today makes Jesus’ baptism quite ordinary. He is baptized along with many other people. He is not first in line, and the world does not stop at the moment of his baptism. In fact, when the Holy Spirit does descend upon Jesus, Jesus’ baptism is over, and he is found praying – another ordinary spiritual practice we do almost everyday. Then, Jesus hears those wonderful words, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased,” By simply having those words spoken, we see that the incarnation is a fleshy, human experience. Jesus needs to hear those words just like any of us need to hear those words from God.[i] Jesus needs to know God’s approval, God’s love, and God’s claim on him – needs that we all experience.

Of course, Jesus is not the first person who needed to hear that loving approval. We also hear today of God’s love and care for the people of Israel in our passage from Isaiah. As a people in exile, who have suffered a great deal and who may wonder if they will ever find favor with God again, we hear this lovely passage for them. God’s words for Israel are a healing salve, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you… You are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you…” These are words we long to hear throughout life: certainly in those valleys of our spiritual timeline, but honestly, even in the highs and in the normal time. We are all riddled with insecurities and doubts, and we long for the kind of love that can love us no matter what. We need to know that we are fully accepted – something that other humans can rarely express. As one pastor says, “Our sense of belonging comes not from the acceptance of our peers or the status of our communities but from the One who claims us and will never let us go. What makes us worthy is…God’s gracious love.”[ii]

I love you. You are my beloved. With you I am well pleased. These are words that we need to hear no matter where we are on that up and down journey of our spiritual life. And these are words that even Jesus needs to hear. That this affirming love comes at Jesus’ baptism is no surprise. In the waters of baptism, “God seals God’s love for us, no matter what we might have done and what might happen. In the waters of our baptism, God gives evidence of what God says to Jesus… ‘You are my [child], the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’”[iii]

But like the fact that we need to hear over and over again that we are loved, we also need to remember again and again our baptism: that time when we, as beloved children, covenant together to fully love all God’s children. Throughout the Church year, we reaffirm our baptismal covenant because we need the reminder that not only are we beloved children of God, but also we are beloved children who behave a certain way: proclaiming the Good News, seeking and serving Christ, and striving for justice and peace.

After Jesus’ baptism and the proclamation that he is beloved, Jesus goes out into the wilderness to be tempted. This will be the first of many trials for Jesus. But Jesus holds on tightly to his beloved status – the rock that helps him seek, serve, and share during his lifetime. We too hear those words from God afresh today: I love you. You are my beloved. With you, I am well pleased. Now go out there and love as I love you. Amen.

Today we celebrate the last event in our Christmas narrative – the arrival of the wise men. There is something about these three men that vividly draw us in to the story. The years of seeing pageants, singing the hymn “We Three Kings,” or seeing varied artistic renderings of the kings have filled our minds with myriad images. You may imagine the men as varied ethnically. You may imagine their fine clothing and expensive trappings. You may imagine them as learned men on a life quest. What I like about these wise men is that their intriguing story not only invites us all into the posture of a spiritual seeker, but also their story gives us a picture of what being a seeker entails.

From the very beginning of the Christmas stories, we learn that all are welcome to a spiritual encounter with our Lord. With Mary we learned that the young, the faithful, and the unexpected can have intimate encounters with God. With the shepherds, we found that those who are on the margins of society can be recipients of divine revelation. And with the wise men, we learn that outsiders – people from the East – or in biblical terms, Gentiles, can be led to a spiritual connection with God.[i] What we learn from these three distinct groups is that relationship with the Christ Child is open to all. No matter who you are, where you are from, or what your social standing is, you are welcome with Jesus. The Episcopal Church, whose famous signs read “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You,” learned this very basic way of being from Jesus – who welcomed all to his birth. The magi this week teach us this core value once again – all are welcome to an encounter with Christ.

The wise men also teach us that seeking is active. Nowhere in the text does the text say that the magi stumbled upon Jesus by chance. The magi were looking for Jesus. In fact, they were so bold in their seeking that they came into King Herod’s empire asking where the King of the Jews was – clearly implying that King Herod was not the king they were seeking. They seek this king of the Jews in full view of all – not afraid or embarrassed, but boldly owning their search before others. They continue their search, following that star for who knows how long, without the promise that they will find the Christ Child, but with a hopeful, active searching.

The behavior of the magi teaches us that we too are to be active seekers. But being active seekers can be tricky for us, because we are easily distracted – so busy with family, work, and life that we forget the foundation of that entire life. Seeing Christ in our lives requires active seeking. A relationship with Christ is mutual – the richer our contributions to that relationship, the richer our relationship becomes. We too are to be active seekers of Christ in this life.

Third, the magi teach us the posture of humility while in the presence of the sacred. The gifts that the men give are those kinds of gifts that are humbly given only on the most special of occasions.[ii] The magi recognize the amazing thing that God has done in Jesus Christ, and they offer the most special of gifts. But even more than the gifts is the nature of the wise men’s response. When they see the Christ Child and Mary, they do not congratulate themselves for a search well done. Instead, the magi fall to their knees, on the dirty, filthy ground, sullying fine garments, in order to pay homage to Jesus. That these three powerful men could be brought to their knees by a mere child shows us the power of Christ, and the humility we all can show before God.

The Episcopal Church has often been teased as being an aerobic church – with so much switching between standing, sitting, and kneeling that you actually get a workout. What I love about our piety is that the physicality of our worship invites us into the kind of humility that we find in the magi. Kneeling especially requires humility and sacrifice – our bodies rarely enjoy kneeling. Through the discomfort and distinctiveness of kneeling, we discover new things about ourselves and about what we are doing – whether we are praying, confessing, or receiving the body and blood of Christ. The magi remind us of how this simple posture can reorient ourselves toward God.

Finally, the magi teach us about obedient listening. Now unless you are a dog owner, or the parent of a little one, obedience is not a word we particularly enjoy. As individuals we like to think of ourselves as not needing to “obey” anyone. Even when we think of God, we prefer words like cooperation, sharing, or advising rather than the word “obedience.” But the magi remind us that obedience toward God is essential. Social mores, and even the fear of punishment, could have led the wise men to disregard their dream warning them about returning to Herod. But instead, the magi obediently listen to their dream – to the word of God that comes to them in the night – and they leave from the country by another road. Just verses later we discover that their dream was a most helpful warning; Herod had nothing but ill-intended wishes on his mind when he asked the wise men to return. That is the way with God though. We are not given the future, only the current word of God for us. We are encouraged to trust and obey God when God speaks.

The magi did not just bring gifts for Jesus today. The magi give us gifts too. Through them we learn that the kingdom of heaven is a welcoming place for us. We learn through them that the faith journey is one of active seeking after God. Through them we learn the posture of humble reverence before God. And finally, we learn through them that obedient listening is the most direct way to cooperate with God. We are grateful today for the witness of the magi, who teach us the best ways to seek and find God. Their instruction today gives us permission to be the seekers that Jesus invites us to be. Welcome to the journey, seekers! Amen.

One of the constant sounds here on Long Island since “Superstorm Sandy” is the sound of chainsaws. The sound is so constant that the hum of the chainsaws has almost become white noise…almost. The noise is not quite soothing enough to truly be white noise. Instead it is a humming reminder of all the work still left to be done here. As we slowly try to clear the property around our homes and businesses, the work seems endless. Piles of stacked wood along the roads demonstrate signs of progress, but there are still roads that are occasionally closed as work crews continue clearing what looks like a dropped box of toothpicks.

I wonder if that constant hum might be our Advent theme song this year. We too need to clear out the debris of our lives that keeps us from connecting to God. This past Sunday, John the Baptist called us to “Prepare the way for the LORD’s coming! Clear the road for him!” (New Living Translation) Our Advent time of preparation can be a time of clearing out what is keeping us away from God. Whether our debris is the rapid pace of life, the to-do list (that conveniently does not include prayer), or our own self-centeredness, we all have debris that blocks our path to God.

Clearing debris is not easy work, and does not come naturally. In fact, our more natural state is to keep the debris in place so as to avoid true intimacy with God. That is why an Advent theme song is helpful. We need the din of humming chainsaws to pull us back into the work of clearing debris. Or perhaps you prefer an actual hymn as your theme song. Personally, I love Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence. Or maybe your Advent calendar or devotions are your theme song this year. Whatever brings you back to the work of clearing debris, working your way closer to a deeper relationship with God is what might make this Advent sacred for you. Crank up the music, and continue to enjoy a blessed Advent!

I have been thinking about this sermon for weeks – the sermon to lead us into our Annual Meeting – the sermon to lead us into a time of celebration and inspiration. But then I remembered that we are in Advent, stuck once again with John’s crazy witness of repentance. Repentance is not quite the sexy message I was looking for to promote what has been a great year. Who wants to tarry in the wilderness when we have good news to celebrate?

But the more I have thought about the wilderness this week, the more the wilderness seems to be the perfect place for us today. The wilderness is a holy place in our scriptures. The wilderness is the sacred place where our ancestors journeyed toward the Promised Land. Many a scriptural figure has ended up in the wilderness with only God for company. For the gospel of Luke, the wilderness is a key place of activity – where testing, prayer, withdrawal, and miracles happen.[i] Many a spiritual Christian has fled to the wilderness over the centuries – a place where the quiet is deafening, and where one goes to strip away the distractions of life.

The wilderness is where we find John the Baptist today. There is a stark contrast in where we find John and where the powerful men of the time are. Luke details the leaders of the day: Emperor Tiberius, Pontius Pilate in Judea, Herod in Galilee, Philip in Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias in Abilene. These names are not just in the text to trip up the priest on Sunday. Luke mentions these rulers and the towns that they rule so that we can understand the significance of where John the Baptist is. The towns of the rulers are places of wealth and comfort. Each of those leaders is treated with dignity and respect, lives in lavish homes, and is worshiped like a god. But the word of God does not come from these posh places. The word is spoken in the wilderness. In the Greek, “wilderness” is translated as “solitary, lonely, desolate, and uninhabited.” Here in the middle of nowhere – a place where people feel utterly alone and desolate is where the word of God is proclaimed.

So how could I possibly be excited about a journey into a stark, barren place on such a celebratory day as this? Because St. Margaret’s went through its own wilderness journey not so long ago. As a relationship with a priest was dissolved, tensions rose among parishioners, and many left our family, St. Margaret’s journeyed through what felt like a time of desolate wilderness. Although I was not part of the St. Margaret’s family at that time, working through the healing process with you this past year has taught me a lot about what that wilderness time was like. Many of you wondered if we would survive. Some of you sat in the parking lot before Church, not sure if you could walk through those beautiful red doors one more time. For many of you, the wounds from that desolate wilderness are tucked away in a box on the back shelf of your hearts, but the box seems to keep slipping off the shelf when you least expect.

The truth is, I am not sure if we are out of the wilderness time. We still have some work to do here at St. Margaret’s and there are going to be times when we are not happy with each other (I know, that is hard to believe!). But just because the wilderness is a place of solitude and desolation does not necessarily make the wilderness all bad. The wilderness is where the people of God encounter God. Abraham’s journey into the wilderness brought about a blessed covenantal relationship with God – with the gift of descendants as numerous as the stars. The people of Israel’s journey through the wilderness brought them to the Promised Land. And even when they were in the wilderness, they felt God with them – helping them find water from rocks, food in the form of manna and birds, and leadership to comfort and guide them. Even John the Baptist, preaching repentance today from the wilderness, finds that his message in the wilderness is the herald of the Messiah, the one who finally brings about redemption. The wilderness is not necessarily a bad place. The wilderness is an intense place – an intense place of encounter with God, but not a bad place.

That is the tricky part about wildernesses. When we are in the wilderness, we can feel lonely and despondent. Jesus himself is thrown into the darkness of temptation when he goes into the wilderness for forty days. But being in the wilderness does not cut us off from God. Being in the wilderness cuts us off from the padding we use to cushion ourselves from pain; that same padding that can be a barrier between us and God. When we are in the wilderness, there is no avoiding God. The wilderness is like an empty locked room with only you and God. In some ways, I think this is why we are encouraged to go on silent retreats at monasteries. The few times I have been, the first day is always awkward. I am such an extrovert, that the first day of silence kills me. I want to talk, I want to engage others, and I want to keep my busy, active pace. But when all you have is a cell, the worship space, and perhaps somewhere to walk quietly with your thoughts and prayers, things get clear much more quickly. That padding is gone immediately and you are left with God to reconnect.

So unfortunately, John the Baptist is going to leave us in the wilderness for just a couple of more weeks of Advent. But that is good news for us. We have been through a time of experiencing the desolation of the wilderness. That time was dark and painful for many of us and will never fully leave our consciousness. But having come through that dark time, we can stay in the wilderness by choice. Like Abraham who chose to take his small family into the wilderness for the promise of good things, we too choose to tarry in the wilderness this Advent. We tarry here because we want to be closer to God. We choose to journey through the wilderness because we need the guidance from the intimacy that only the wilderness can provide. We claim the wilderness this Advent, and especially this day of our Annual Meeting because we want to be in a place where we can clearly hear God’s guidance for our future.

This year has already given us a taste of how wonderful the journey with God can be. Although we have had some adjustments, joy has been the overwhelming experience of this past year. From joyful liturgies, to the joy of new ministries, to the joy that each new parishioner has brought to our lives, we have much to celebrate. If we have already seen this much joy this year, imagine what a little more intensive time with God can do for our spiritual journey in the year to come. The promise is clear from John about what the time in the wilderness will bring: Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God. So stay with me in the wilderness for a couple more weeks. We may find that our time here leads to even more blessing and joy in the year to come. Amen.

After a month of reading through the book of Job on Sundays, you would think today would feel victorious. Finally, Job is rewarded for all his suffering! The text tells us that God restores the fortunes of Job and gives Job twice as much as he had before. Family members return to greet him and shower him with gifts, and he is blessed with ten new children. For any of us who have been through a time of suffering, this should feel like great news.

But this week, as I have been praying on this text, I cannot shake the hollow feeling of this good news today. Sure, Job has ten new children, but they can never erase the memory of the ten children he lost. Sure, all his wealth is returned, but after losing everything, having his friends and family abandon and blame him, and sitting covered in boils, surely wealth had lost its value and importance to Job. The good news of this text has left me feeling hollow because I just cannot imagine how Job lives into this good news. How can he conceive children with his wife who mocked him and God, risk loving again, and know that his children will never know the reality of the suffering he experienced. And his family and friends who return with gifts – where were they when he needed them?

I struggle too because we do not really get answers today from Job or God. We never really find out why God allows Job’s blessings to be taken away. The only semblance of an answer happened last week when God railed against Job for assuming that Job could understand the ways of God. But an answer does not come in the blessings either. The last verses of the book of Job do not “say that God restored Job’s fortunes and relationships in response to Job’s words of repentance and humility. Instead, God’s reasons for giving things to Job are as unexplained as the reasons they were taken away. God does not explain suffering, but God does not explain beatitude either.”[i] We are left at the end of a month of Job no clearer about suffering and blessing than we were when we started.

Maybe this ending to Job feels hollow to me now because I have seen and experienced too much of Job’s journey. I have held in prayer friends, family, and parishioners who have sat in the ashes of suffering with neither of us finding satisfactory answers. I have listened to St. Margaret’s stories of pain and suffering that happened in the years before my arrival. And I have had more friends than I wish to count who have lost a child in pregnancy. Many of us here have lost teen or adult children. Having journeyed with friends, I know that you can never replace those children.

I think also the ending of Job feels hollow to me because the ending does not address Job’s relationship with God. God and Job have been on incredible journey. Job moves in the book from talking about God with his friends to talking more and more directly to God. What was once a theological concept is now an intimate relationship. Job manages throughout the journey to hold on to “God with one hand and shake his fist at God with the other. He stays in relationship with God, addressing God directly even from the depths of despair.”[ii] But the ending of Job does not really give us a clue about what that relationship looks like going forward. Are they back to square one? Does Job go back to being blessed and on good terms with God? Now that his blessing is doubled, does God slip back into the background, unnecessary or at least not thought about too much?

As I have struggled with this text, I finally began to find footing in the small details of the text today. The first details are in Job’s confession at the beginning of the lesson. Job confesses that his relationship with God has changed. Job says, “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you.” In other words, Job declares that he had heard about God, but now he knows God. This journey of suffering and pain changes Job’s experience of God – from being a relationship of dutiful obedience and distant reverence, to a deep intimacy and knowledge. He no longer simply knows God cognitively; Job knows God in the depths of his being. As Job experiences utter devastation, loss, abandonment, and pain; as Job rages at God in anger and fury; as Job moans through his misery – Job never pushes God away. Through some forty chapters of pain, Job manages to grow into deeper love of God.

The other small detail in Job where I find footing today comes in how he orders his life in the midst of his restored fortunes. Job does not tell his family and friends – the abandoners – to go away, holding a grudge against them that can never be healed. Instead, he receives their gifts without protest. Job does not live a guarded life. Instead, he risks new life with his wife which results in the birth of ten children. And Job does not return to the same old way of doing things. Instead he gives his daughters an inheritance just like his sons. That may not sound like a big deal by modern standards, but giving an inheritance to his daughters is a huge deal. This act by Job is a radical and innovate way of extending his own transformation by transforming the social order for his daughters.[iii] The way that Job orders his life during his restored fortunes says a lot about how this ordeal has transformed him.

In the midst of what can feel like a hollow ending, we two can find hope for our own spiritual journey. We learn two things from Job. First, our relationship with God is indeed a journey. The experience of Job gives us permission to be angry with God, to question God, to be a fully and ignorantly limited human with God, and to humbly stand with God. We can do all of this not as defeated individuals but as transformed individuals – so transformed, in fact, that we can be a people who endeavor to risk love.

The other thing that we learn from Job is to redefine our understanding of blessedness. We never hear in the text about how Job feels about being doubly blessed. I like to imagine that Job is sober about his second blessing, his experience of suffering coloring the blessing. On Simone’s first day of school in Delaware, when I met her teacher, we both were shocked by the recognition. Simone’s teacher was a Habitat homeowner who had gone through the program when I worked with Habitat for Humanity. Here was a woman who had gotten into a situation of housing instability. Her income was 25-50% of median income. Her children were squeezed into one room at a friend’s house. Their anxiety and stress had been overwhelming. But she put in hundreds of hours of sweat equity, she built a home, and she stabilized her family. Simone’s teacher could have gone back to school to find a higher-earning job. But she stayed with this school, forming and shaping one- and two-year olds into loving, caring toddlers. Simone’s teacher was one of the most amazing women I have ever met, and she transformed my daughter’s life at a formative time. Simone’s teacher could have been distant, cut-off from extending love, or resentful for her time in poverty. But instead, Simone’s teacher was full of life and love.

Job, like this teacher, learned that he could use his blessing to transform others. Job invites us to also consider the ways that we can use our blessings to transform others – to become a blessing. In our stewardship campaign this year, we have been talking about how we are blessed to be a blessing. Job shows us the way of living into this life. Yes, I want you to consider how you can be a financial blessing to St. Margaret’s. But I also want you to see the great invitation of transforming your spirit into one of blessing. We all have a laundry list of things that could make us bitter, guarded, or careful. But Job and God invite us to instead live the blessed life that blesses others. We are promised today that we can live into a blessing life through the example of Job – a man who had every reason to abandon hope, love, and God – but who instead is strengthened in God, renewed in hope, and overflowing with love. We too can embrace Job’s embodiment of being a blessing in this life. Amen.